Illuminating
by myredrazzlevest
Summary: A series of segments depicting the relationship between Eponine and Montparnasse. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Reviews would be appreciated. Flames will be ignored. Thank you so much :)

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She adores him disdainfully. Her thoughts are out of order – as they constantly are – what she means is, she loves him, but in an overarching manner which would make any girl sick. He is what she must settle for. Yet, she wants so much more; she wants to be like those attractively clean women holding and stroking the arm of their loved one as they parade through the Luxembourg. Those women never smile at her, the petty, filthy child adorned in rags that barely cover her. She envies them, wishes the man who she both loves and hates would treat her more like a lady. But these are ridiculous fantasies, especially when her social class blockades her from being anything more than a street whore.

Éponine forces herself to stop. She is somewhat in denial of reality and frightened of her own thoughts. Many a night she can recall lying awake, curled on her pitiful mattress, swimming in a severe bout of self-loathing, no better than if she were drowning. Perhaps some type of religion would ease her suffering, but she cannot read very well and the Bible often reminds her of a brick. What a demented soul, to have no more knowledge than what older men would choose to instill upon you. It is as if she is trudging through darkness, a single blurry beam of light trying to provide guidance. Does this light do her justice? We will allow the reader to make their own decision.

Now, the man who occupies her thoughts sits across the room, his broad back facing her. He has relieved himself of his jacket and his cravat is loosened. His dark hair appears silken in the sunlight – she wants to run her fingers through it – but simply stares as he does so instead. She stands from chaise lounge she has been propped up on and carefully strides over to his side.

He is writing; he ignores her presence.

"Montparnasse," she calls, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

He glances up, this man who is scarcely more than a boy, his eyes clear, blue, speckled with green and brown, smoldering. "What is it, 'Ponine," he snaps. His voice is just as smooth as his hair, not too deep, the voice of a young man.

She shivers when he speaks and is unable to hold his gaze. "What're you doing?" She asks nervously. "You've been writing for hours."

He tosses his head back towards the paper, irritated. "Leave, then." He talks to her in a degrading manner, as if he is somehow not a part of the same social class. "Why're you still here anyway?" And yet, under his harsh exterior, he sometimes gives off the impression that he actually misses her when she is not around. Meanness is often just caring's older sibling.

Éponine shrinks under his words. If he were still a gamin, she would slap him. But no, slapping is not used in this context between them. "You said you'd walk me home, 'Parnasse. You said you wanted to talk to my father."

"Well, I got busy," he answers with an angered sigh. "And I've just forgotten what I meant to write. You've got two legs – go on."

She gazes at him, unable to pull her eyes away from his angelic appearance. He may behave like a wretched being, but he certainly does not look like one. She focuses on his cherry red lips, how they are damp and slightly parted, contrasting against his alabaster skin. She brushes her tongue over her own lips as she remembers where exactly his have been before.

He has been watching her stare at him. "What?"

Éponine blinks; there she goes again, disconnecting herself from reality. She shakes her head. "Nothin'," she mumbles and turns to go.

He goes back to work, and she hears him crumpling the paper furiously as she closes the apartment door.

Éponine returns to the Thenardier den a while later, to the home that is barely habitable. It is always disturbingly loud, absorbed in ruckus, destined for treachery. But to her, this mess is all she has known since birth.

She hardly knows Montparnasse, despite their closeness. He is not actually a friend, and she is disturbed by the term 'lover.' He is an assassin; she does not deny the fact – which makes their relationship ever the more complicated. He is a friend of her father's, a member of their Patron-Minette, an immoral man. But who was moral in their makeshift family? Certainly not she, for the numerous times she had accompanied their gang. In that sense, she felt as if she and Montparnasse were unluckily brought together from convenience.

Yet, he knows all about her; he knows a disastrous amount. She was embarrassed that she had put so much of herself out on the line. She possessed knowledge of the street, just not the knowledge to discern deceitfulness. What did she know about the young man? He had to be at least two or three summers older than she. He knew how to read and write, because he had forced himself to learn. Education is the bar which lifts the stone of poverty. He was a gamin and has no memory whatsoever of his parents. Éponine can imagine him, as a small child, scampering through the streets, rosy cheeks marred with dirt, perhaps even blood. She feels no pity, seeing the man he has become today.

A man who has taken what would have been normal human emotions and warped them into a devious need to manipulate. Beneath the surface he is cold, calculating, and what particularly frightens her is her inability to know if there is anything beyond that. Not that he is stoic, but that she can never distinguish if what feeling he does display is sincere. Some might call this guarded, and obviously those people have never dealt with someone like Montparnasse. He is the type of person to use yourself against you.

Then you would ask why Éponine insists on bothering with him.

Well, there is the matter of social class, but more importantly, the basic need for congenial contact. He is a criminal to society; he is relatable to Éponine. She will never fit into the upper classes of society she dreams so fondly of. Neither can he, although he may try. Why attempt to push your way through a group that will only keep shuffling you out? Perhaps they genuinely care for one another, but most likely are clinging to familiarity. He relishes her company because he can be himself. She yearns for his presence because he will always be her equivalent to a prince charming. Still, they will never realize the reason for the attraction between them; a downfall of many relationships. If only they had paused to ask themselves, "Now why do I adore you?" Relationships can never be lived unconsciously.

And Montparnasse has had many relationships. Any human being attuned to nature would realize that men are not meant for commitment. Éponine had observed him over the years, watched as he developed a charming manner of manipulation. He brought home droves of women – no, sometimes he would go to their homes, and sometimes they would not go home at all. She started to outrageously think of him as a male prostitute, much to her own amusement. Except that he did not get paid and actually enjoyed his work. Her mama corrected her upon hearing this, adding the term 'ladies' man' to her young vocabulary. Either way, Montparnasse was using his beauty to get what he wanted. A sly smirk and a few drinks were his arsenal of weapons. Sometimes, he only needed to employ a couple choice phrases, and a girl would be wrapped around his arm as if he had the same genius diction as Voltaire. Obviously, when she was older, Éponine became prey multiple times.

Oddly enough, despite his grotesque womanizing, he constantly returned to her. We use the word 'returned' here quite loosely, as Montparnasse has always asserted that he 'belongs' to no one. But after every encounter, Éponine would see him the very next day, joyous and looking brand new. He brushed the women from his conscience as fast as he had encouraged them into bed. Éponine would be pleased with his visits; she even might have started to expect them. She just forgot that the same procedure he used with other women could easily be used on her as well. He certainly did not hold her in some lush, special cavity of his heart – a room reserved just for her in his inn. Or did he? Éponine did not think like this, however, she was just sated whenever he came around. She believed he always visited her because she was not like those other women, and maybe, he was essentially attracted to her for that. Was she just delusional? Was she onto something? Was this really what she believed? We will allow the reader to make the decision once again, for the writer cannot ever be right – cannot agree with everyone – but only present an account which will stir new thoughts in the reader.

As Éponine settled into her bed that night, pulling the tacky blanket around herself, she looked through a minute hole in the wall. She could barely see the outside, only a black patch of sky and the top of a dreary street lamp were visible. Even though she told herself not to dwell on Montparnasse, her thoughts drifted to the fashionable young man, who could have been so much more, if only he had been granted to a higher class. Then she remembered the same could be said about her. Maybe – because she was not pretty, or intelligent, or anything she fancied about him. Éponine was so busy idolizing someone who was definitely morally worse off than she, that she forgot how to look inward at herself.

So why focus on these two souls? Why dream up a fictional account in an attempt to fill in between the lines? Less creative people will see it as a waste of time. Less accepting people will say no one can create an idea that is accurate. Either way, both will nitpick, preferring to occupy themselves by disassembling a writer's theory rather than just appreciating the endeavor to entertain a reader. But, back to the question. We respond, "Why not?"


	2. Chapter 2

When they first met, they were so blissfully young and spent so much time together; a passerby would believe them to be siblings. He was a cherubic, rosy-cheeked child with a mop of dark hair always smashed under a cap. She was a skinny child, skin slightly warmed by the sun, brown hair constantly streaming behind her, as she was constantly running around. They both had lived in Montfermeil at the time – we believe Montparnasse's parents could have originated there – she at her father's inn, and he on the streets. They had absolutely no worries, day after day being filled with shrill cries of excitement, laughter, and high-pitched squeals. Any problem which arose between them was easily solved by an instant wrestling match; a bop on the head, a pinch – the two would fall to the ground and fight it out.

On a particularly sunny fall day, they decided to go on a rumpus around the outskirts of town. At the time, he was roughly six summers; she four. Who watched these children? Why no one. Time spent on making money was much more effective than time wasted on observing children act out their daydreams. They could walk and talk anyway, so they could take care of themselves.

Montparnasse had picked up a dead branch early on in their adventure, and was now using it to hit the back of Éponine's calves. Each time she was whacked, she would hurry up her gait, but eventually slow again after a few seconds. This created a strange pace as they moved through the towering blades of grass. The boy was amused, seeing as he had discovered a way to control his friend. He began to hit her with more and more vigor.

Finally Éponine stopped, turning around with her arms outstretched.

"I'm not movin' until you cut that out," she growled, mimicking the same phrase her mother used on her.

Montparnasse hit her with the stick again. "Yeah, well what're you gonna do 'bout it, squirt?" He approached her until they were less than a few inches apart. Standing on tip-toe so that he would tower over her, Montparnasse smirked at Éponine.

Éponine grabbed the other end of the stick and snapped it off.

"That's stupid," Montparnasse observed in the obnoxious manner of a child.

Éponine flung her piece, hitting him in the face and neck. "You're stupid," she chided.

Montparnasse now had a trail of dirt down his face, and a few fragments of bark stuck to his neck. He was oblivious to them, delicate eyebrows furrowing; he threw down his stick. He was obviously quite angry with his friend. He even stepped on the stick, cracking it to emphasize his attitude. They both realized where this was headed. The two children stared at one another as if they were adults angry about a monetary discrepancy. Because their game was just _that_ serious.

Éponine screamed as she ran wildly through the field, Montparnasse chasing after her. They ran until he caught her at last, which was fairly quickly. He collided with her, their small limbs tangled in a pile.

"'Parnasse," Éponine whined, "get off – you're too heavy!"

Montparnasse, in childish innocence, crushed her even more. "Why should I? You broke my sword. And you're comfy." But then he frowned, face entirely blank. "I should hit you even more for that."

Éponine wiggled, trying to get away. "Ew, and you're all dirty…get off!"

But then he laughed, rubbing his sweaty head against her arm. "'Ponine, you're such a baby! I don' even know why I hang 'round you."

She yelped at the attack, "Get off! No! 'Parnasse please stop!"

A toothy grin lit up his face as he looked down at her, all the simplest childhood thoughts reflected in his eyes. He rolled off of her and into the tall grass, nearly disappearing. "You're a good friend, 'Ponine," he mused, folding his arms under his head. Montparnasse sniffed a few times, before zealously trying to wipe his dirty face on his sleeve.

"I know that already," she snapped.

He sighed, gazing up into the clear sky. "Do you think we'll be friends for a long time? I think I'd like to be friends for that long." He nodded dramatically, head stirring the grass.

"That's all good, 'Parnasse," Éponine said quickly; she seemed uninterested. "But, I don' think - ah! Crap - snake!"

Montparnasse sat back up and peered over at her, pushing the grass aside like two curtains. Twisted around his friend's ankle was a thin, shiny but chocolate colored snake. Éponine was sitting up as well, her leg extended in a silly fashion.

"Get it off," she cried, face scrunching up in disgust.

He stood in front of her, hands open, unsure and actually quite nervous about grabbing the reptile. The snake hissed; tongue poking out every so often, but showing no sign of leaving Éponine's leg. Montparnasse fixed his cap anxiously, eyes unblinking and focused on the rope-like creature which was slowly slithering higher.

"Hurry up! 'Parnasse!" She demanded, squealing each time the snake crept closer.

Closing his eyes tight, he quickly reached forward, grasping the snake roughly and yanking it off. He opened his eyes. The snake was no longer on Éponine's leg, since he was now clutching the oily reptile. He screamed and hurled it, so that it went plummeting into the grass a few feet away with a swish. He stared in the direction the snake had gone, heart pounding in his small chest. Éponine burst out laughing, her merriment slicing through the silence.

"What?"

Éponine was holding onto her stomach, trembling from her own laughter. She managed to croak between giggles and gasps for air, "You scream just like a little girl! I don' think even 'Zelma screams like that!"

Montparnasse flushed, alabaster skin taking on a light shade of pink. "I do not." He crossed his arms, trying to show he was rather serious. "Stop laughing. I _saved _you from that snake. You should be _grateful_." He puffed out his chest like a puny rooster.

Éponine continued, getting to her feet unsteadily. Her small face had become flushed as well, although not from embarrassment. She yawned, rubbing her eyes as her laughter began to quiet.

Montparnasse suddenly grabbed her wrists, pulling them away from her face before biting her.

The two returned to the inn around dusk, Éponine puffy eyed, sporting red and irritated teeth marks on her cheek. Montparnasse lagged behind, his hands shoved in his pockets indifferently. As the inn came into sight, Éponine took off, running furiously. She was such a tattle-tale. It was not as if the mark on her face were obvious or anything. Plus this was not the first time they had an accident like this. Montparnasse hurried after her, grabbing onto her shoulder and yanking her back.

"Don' you dare tell on me," he threatened.

Éponine peeled his fingers off. "Leave me alone!"

Montparnasse clasped his chubby hands together, dropping to his knees in the dirt. If he was not going to get her to cooperate through threats, he would have to try another approach. "Oh please 'Ponine, don' tell on me!" He gazed up at her, already a professional at the puppy-eyed look; he had been in trouble so many times, he had had enough practice.

Éponine was feeling her cheek and the tiny indentions his teeth had made. She sighed loudly, "Fine." She did not want to be a tattle-tale, especially to her older friend. She thought him to be so cool, and wanted to be just like him, although he was always being mean. They played and had fun, but Éponine knew Montparnsse definitely had more fun than she. His fun included picking on her. "But," she continued sneakily.

He looked up, fearful. "What?"

She smiled. She would have her fun. "You need to give me money."

"What?" He stood. The squirt was blackmailing him.

Éponine held her palm out. "You 'eard me. Give me what you got."

Montparnasse glared at her; he slowly dug in his pocket. He nearly threw the coins and ragged lint ball at her. "Here. Now I don' wanna hear you tattle-tale-ing, understand?"

Éponine put the money away and pasted the lint back on his shirt. She was smiling brightly, the teeth marks still extremely visible. Montparnasse was disturbed by this, and frowned, shaking his head at her until her smile faded. He flung the lint off his shirt and into the wind.

"So what're we gonna tell your folks?"

Éponine shrugged, suddenly worried. "What're we gonna do 'Parnasse?"

Montparnasse snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. He replied casually, "We'll tell 'em a stranger did that to you."

The girl nodded, feeling as if her friend were a genius at that moment. "Yeah, we'll tell 'em we were just walkin' and then someone did this to me," she responded enthusiastically. But then she took on a puzzled look. "Do you think they'll buy it?"

Montparnasse turned her around, pat her on the head, then pushed her in the direction of the inn. "Of course. Now why don' you go an' tell 'em that. I'll wait here."

"Okay." Éponine complied happily, entirely clueless to the whole slew of questions which would come from such a foolish explanation. Finally, she felt as if she were on Montparnasse's level, and that they were getting along after their little incident. She did not want him to be callous towards her because she just wanted to be his friend. Of course, Éponine would never admit this to him, because then she would seem even more like a baby.

The boy chuckled to himself as he watched her go, glad he did not have to answer for his wrongdoing. Éponine was really nice in that sense - she listened to whatever nonsense he thought of. But then his mind went onto more serious matters - was she coming back? Were the Thénardier going to ask him if he would like to stay for supper? Was it possible to get his money back? And maybe a new stick as awesome as the last one? He sighed. He had way too much stress to deal with.


	3. Chapter 3

Even at such a young age, the little scoundrel was delighted to learn that his friend had a sister. He was interested in Éponine, entirely taken with her until Azelma was about four and could join in on their games. Even if she did not want to, Montparnasse would insist that she must – it just would not be the same without her. Azelma was completely different from her sister in both appearance and attitude. Once in a while, Montparnasse would wonder if they were really related at all. The younger one was submissive, talking occasionally, but not constantly answering back like the older. Azelma was shorter and actually much smaller than Éponine, if that were possible. She had bright hazel eyes and long lashes which would constantly kiss her cheeks, due to the strange habit of closing her eyes as if she were afraid of the entire world. Her hair was also shorter than her sister's, not as wild, a rich reddish-brown. She was an all around sweet child.

The intense attention Montparnasse placed on her caused a rift between the two girls, and prompted quite a few arguments in which their mother had to intercede. Soon, Éponine began to compete with her ignorant sister for his attention. After all, who would reject any attention from Montparnasse? The boy was eight summers at this time, and growing up quite handsomely.

However, Éponine could not keep up the absurd competition constantly. She had to do her part and run errands once in a while, now that she was older. Unfortunately, Montparnasse often took advantage of those moments when she was not around, to drop by and visit the other sister. Éponine's behavior had been intimidating lately, and she kept bothering him for every little thing. So he would keep watch over the inn and make sure she was gone before approaching. He just happened to be passing by – due to utter coincidence, of course – on the chilly morning Azelma was sitting in the dirt, playing.

"Bonjour, Azelma," he cooed happily. He always used her complete first name, unable to bring himself to rudely shorten it. He was the perfect bantam gentleman.

The little girl smiled, entire face lighting up. She was only four – she just recognized him as the nice older one. "'Parnasse!"

He helped her out of the shallow hole she had dug, straightening out her dress and dusting her off. "How're you today, my dear?" He said as he fixed her tangled hair.

Azelma was trying to help him as well, randomly grabbing onto his shirt and pulling on it; she was straightening out his clothes too. "I'm good. How 'bout you?"

Montparnasse finished what he was doing, holding both her hands. "I'm fine. What'd you wanna do today?"

Azelma started to swing their hands back and forth. "I dunno. Horse?" She gazed up at her friend hopefully.

Montparnasse sighed. He hated that game, but felt that was all she ever wanted to play. "Alright." He got down on one knee. His back would be hurting later today.

She jumped onto his back harshly, making him give a soft _oomph_. They would walk and run for over an hour this way, the little girl terribly happy, urging him to move faster or slow down. Montparnasse would comply, wheezing and panting as he went along. But as much as he disliked the stupid game, he never told her no. Azelma was the only one who could boss the gamin around, and not receive any flack in return. Sadly, she was too young to know this; she could have gotten him to do almost anything. But for Azelma, getting him to gallop around preposterously was good enough.

They returned around noon, Montparnasse carrying Azelma, since she had complained about being way too tired to walk. All that piggy-backing was quite exhausting, after all. Éponine was poking at a spider, her errands done, when they stopped in front of her. She glanced up, eyebrows immediately furrowing at their presence – there was her sister again, bothering _her _friend. Éponine had not even known they were out together. She felt a small twinge of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. She tossed the twig and rock she had been torturing the insect with aside angrily.

"Azelma, get down," she ordered, hands on her hips.

Azelma had been resting her head against Montparnasse's shoulder. She looked at her sister fearfully. "I don' wanna."

Éponine turned her attention to the boy, since her sister was obviously not going to comply. "Don' you think it's a bit strange," she commented dubiously.

"What is?"

"That you're always hangin' 'round my sister. My little sister."

"So?"

Éponine shook her head. "I want you to stop."

Montparnasse held onto Azelma tighter, a suspicious look on his face. "Who're you to tell me what to do?" He asked, irritated.

"Well for one," Éponine snapped, reaching over and pulling Azelma out of his arms. "I'm her sister." She placed Azelma down roughly, the little girl falling over into the dirt.

He glared at Éponine. When did she become so different? Or maybe she had always been this way? In the last few months she had been acting difficult, but she was especially intractable this afternoon. "You're not playing with her anyway. You weren't even around," Montparnasse spat.

Éponine scrunched her nose up. "So? I still think it's weird. I don' want you botherin' her." Then she looked over at Azelma, who cringed in return. "An' I don' want you botherin' him either."

Montparnasse shoved Éponine. "Don' be talkin' to her like that, 'Ponine."

She gasped and shoved back. "Don' tell me what to do, 'Parnasse." Was he actually _defending _her little sister? And was he actually angry with her? Éponine felt her face warming as her jelously met frustration.

He was shocked at her reaction and pushed her again. "Don' push me. I'm just tryin' to stick up for your sis."

Éponine pushed him back gruffly. So he was defending her little sister. Would he ever do the same for her? Blinded by an onslaught of emotions, she forgot about the numerous times he had indeed 'saved' her. The snake was not the only time in the past two years. Éponine tried gently, "I'm only pushin' you because you started it. An' she don' need protectin'."

Montparnasse ignored her, going around to pick up Azelma again. "Just stop it, 'Ponine," he demanded. "I don' know why you're being a bitch."

Both Éponine and Azelma stared at him, mouths slightly agape. They had heard their father use that word when he and their mother argued. They also knew it was quite a nasty word.

The older sister slapped him.

"What was that for?" Montparnasse growled.

Éponine did not want to cry, although with just a word, her friend – the person she had looked up to – had done more damage than he ever physically could. She suddenly felt as if she had shrunk right then and there. He was trying to protect her little sister from her. He thought her a bitch. Éponine had never felt so rejected. She no longer wanted to engage in the useless competition with Azelma - at that moment she knew she would never win. He was gawking at her disdainfully; the girl who adored him, but would never admit it. She was just irritating to him, no fun, a baby – Montparnasse never called Azelma these things. He was not giving her a chance.

And now he probably hated her.

She replied shakily, "You're horrible." Éponine took off into the inn, crying, "I don' ever wanna see you again!" She wanted to get away before he saw that she was indeed, sobbing.

Montparnasse had gone white as a sheet. He had never meant for his words to be so detrimental. They were having an argument. Why was Éponine acting like this? He realized his words had not been the nicest, but she took him too seriously. Montparnasse was confused, his cheek throbbing lightly. Sure, she could get bothersome, but he had gotten used to her being around; they were friends whether he liked it or not. She could not possibly be serious about never wanting to see him again. They _always _saw one another. Daily. No matter what he did, she would _always _come around – she needed him as a friend. Éponine had become like a sidekick or dog to him. She was around when he wanted to play with someone; she got excited to see him, even if he was not thrilled to see her. He must have done something truly wicked for her to react in such a way. He doubted she would become so distraught over words.

Azelma was rubbing his hurt cheek. She cocked her head to the side when Montparnasse glanced over. "Why can't you an' 'Ponine be nice?"

He sighed, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a thin line.

"Because she's impossible and I'm too mean."

Azelma copied his sigh.

"That don' matter."


	4. Chapter 4

Montparnasse was fourteen when he first murdered a man.

He claims it to be a misfortune; the old man was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Back then, he had nothing against the stranger – he had just wanted his money. Poverty had driven him to such a heinous act. Sadly for the victim, he had not been carrying a substantial amount the evening he was returning home after being out with his daughter. But that was the moment in which the gamin had actually realized how difficult it is to murder a man. He does not believe it as much today, although at the time he had thought anyone who could kill an innocent must be depraved. Montparnasse learned how to disconnect himself, as one would for their personal life and career. When he became an assassin, killing was his job, although he still thought himself as the same person he was before entering the profession. Murder is just something that is done on the side.

However, the night he had appeared, drenched in blood, on the inn doorstep had been horrendous. It had been Éponine who found him, distraught and not himself – she had been deathly afraid at first, the fact that she had distanced herself from him since he had hurt her caused a significant rift between them. But the girl had managed to steel herself that instant, unable to allow the young man to wallow in misery. She had been only twelve then, as she helped a boy who had just murdered into her house. Perhaps moments like these can account for the strangeness which plagued her as she grew older. She would become strange, and Montparnasse would become completely lost.

The inn was still bustling and lively when she snuck him into the room she shared with Azelma.

Éponine forced him to sit on her bed while she went to fetch a rag. Montparnasse weakly complied, somewhat surprised at both the calm and kindness she was showing him. He felt as if the old Éponine were coming back around – to aid his new, ruined self. He let his head fall into his hands.

She returned with a wet rag and pulled his head up, their eyes meeting.

"What'd you do this time?"

The question was casual, as if he had done nothing more than make her little sister cry; something which actually happened quite often. Montparnasse was speechless. Éponine had not spoken to him like a friend in years. She started to wipe the blood from his face.

"I think you know pretty well."

"Why'd you do it?"

Montparnasse sighed shakily, clasping his hands together. "Money. What else?"

Éponine eyed him suspiciously. "I don' know, 'Parnasse. I feel like it could've been anythin'."

Montparnasse clutched his head, running his hands furiously through his hair a few times. "Why do you think I'm some kind of monster, 'Ponine?" He asked desperately. "Why do you hate me?"

Éponine was on her knees, the rag clutched in her hands before him. She toyed with the frayed edges, unable to look at him. "Because sometimes you are." She admitted lightly. "But that don' mean I hate you."

He stared at her; she was frowning, gazing at the floor. He could hear the ruckus from the inn as the noise wafted into the room. "Well what'd you think of me now?"

Éponine shook her head, twisting the rag between her fingers. The blood had started to transfer onto her hands, but she did not notice. She bit her lip, and then continued. "I think you're still horrible, 'Parnasse. You can't change that." She finally risked looking up at him.

Montparnasse's expression was blank; he was no longer watching her, now focused on the ceiling instead. "Why're you helpin' me then?" He swallowed. "You can just ask me to leave."

She placed the rag aside carefully, before placing her hands on his knee. "I just said I don' hate you, 'Parnasse. I'm helpin' you because I wanna. We may not be close, but we're still friends."

He placed his hand on hers. "Do you think we could ever be close again?"

Éponine pulled her hands away and picked up the rag again. "Let's take care of this first." Then she stood and started cleaning up his matted hair.

They went on this way, submerged in silence, Éponine slowly cleaning him up, in a superficial attempt at bringing him back to normal. They both knew this, but still they wanted to believe by just washing away the blood, they could somehow erase the entire incident. Éponine especially believed this, not wanting to accept the fact that Montparnasse was now a murderer. Perhaps that explains why she so tirelessly worked on his face and hair; wanting to rid him of all evidence so they could go back to normal. Montparnasse was less disillusioned, knowing quite well what he had done to himself; what he had done to his position in society. The gamin was now a killer.

"I just left the body there," he mumbled.

Éponine was quiet.

Then her friend did something she thought him impossible of ever doing: he cried. She stopped, gawking at him awkwardly. Éponine felt guilty. She had always assumed he was more capable of murder than breaking down into tears. Well, she had been proved wrong – he was apparently able to do both. If only for that moment; after that night she had never witnessed him crying again.

Éponine wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

Montparnasse cried into her shoulder.

Neither spoke; he being unable to, and Éponine having nothing to say. They had barely spoken for years and now in a single disastrous moment, had been brought back together. Despite the fact they later spoke frequently, they never brought up this moment ever again. Montparnasse would never know that this moment was the only thing which kept Éponine from believing him to be a complete monster.

Luckily, Azelma was quite uninterested when she stumbled upon them.

She was ten summers old already, and had learned from her sister how to be cool and complacent around Montparnasse. She actually wanted little to do with him at that time; what accounted for the many arguments between them and Azelma ultimately crying. She was not surprised to find him in their room. She was more taken aback by the blood.

"What happened?" She tried.

Éponine was collected, even though she had forgotten about her sister being about. "Nothing," she mumbled. "'Parnasse just got hurt, that's all."

Azelma made her way into the room and out of the doorway. She stood behind Éponine to observe. "It looks pretty bad. You should call Mama."

Éponine whipped around, towering, threatening. "No," she snapped, before adding a bit more nicely, "I've got it."

Azelma shrugged. "What'd you do now, 'Parnasse?"

She had said it nonchalantly, just like her sister. It was enough to make Éponine and Montparnasse's stomachs turn. Azelma had meant no harm, since she was uninformed, but she was just coming off insensitive to the others. She gazed at them, as if Montparnasse was six again.

Éponine attempted to show her little sister away. "He fell. That's all. Now I've got to get back to what I was doin'."

Azelma headed to the door with her, but she kept trying to look back at Montparnasse. "Why'd you let him into our room?" She asked bitterly.

Éponine leaned against the doorframe, staring at her sister who was now in the hallway. "He's hurt, 'Zelma." She replied, irritated. "I think it was the least I could do."

"I thought you guys weren't friends."

Éponine blinked, her face blank. Suddenly, all those months of distancing herself from the boy had evaporated. "What're you talkin' about? We were never not friends."

Azelma was confused. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. At last she said softly, "Well that's…lovely." She stared at her sister suspiciously. "But what're you gonna tell _them_?"

Éponine recognized this 'them' – their parents. She knew despite how busy and distracted they both were, they would eventually find out about Montparnasse being in their house. But how long was he going to stay? And how long did she want him to stay? Her mama could possibly find out by tonight. "I'm not going to tell them anything," she answered resolutely. "I need you to cover for me."

Azelma nodded, already bored with the whole ordeal. "Alright."

The younger one somehow managed to do an exceptional job of covering for her older sister. Their mama never came by, and even Azelma herself stayed away from their room. Éponine was able to get every last splatter of blood off her friend, who had gone silent after Azelma had interrupted. This made Éponine quite nervous, although she was not frightened, just merely worried about what he was thinking about.

"'Parnasse," she called gently, not wanting to harshly rouse him from his reverie. "'Parnasse, let me wash your clothes…"

Montparnasse looked up, flashing a small smile. "Get rid of all evidence? Do you even know how to wash clothes, 'Ponine?"

Éponine smiled; this was the old Montparnasse. She felt relieved – at least he did not seem too disturbed. "Of course I do. I'm not that useless," she defended. "Now, c'mon."

That night they both managed to squeeze on Éponine's bed, he in his undergarments and she in her nightgown. Éponine had waited until both her parents had both gone to sleep before sneaking out to wash his clothes. Now Azelma was snoring lightly over on her bed while they whispered through the darkness.

"So you're just gonna leave here?" Éponine asked sleepily.

Montparnasse yawned before replying, "I've got to. I've no family anymore, 'Ponine. And even when they were around, they didn' care 'bout me."

She was staring in his direction intensely, concerned. "But then I won't see you. You have to stay – where are you gonna go?"

He shrugged; the only sign of movement was the sound of material ruffling. "I don' know. I've just gotta get out o' here though. I'm a murderer now, 'Ponine."

Éponine seemed to lunge towards him, hugging him, her voice thick because she had started crying. "What if I never see you again? When are you gonna leave? Tomorrow? Next week?"

Montparnasse did not hug her back. "I don' know, 'Ponine."

"Well I'm sorry for these past few years," she said sheepishly. "For not wantin' to have anythin' to do with you."

He perked up, but remained silent.

Éponine continued, "I actually sorta liked you, 'Parnasse."

"Really?" Montparnasse said lamely. "I would've never guessed. You were always bein' so cold to me."

She rested her head against his chest, listening to his relaxed heartbeat. "I'm sorry."

Éponine drifted off to sleep this way, much to Montparnasse's disappointment. He had wanted to hear more of her wondrous apology, hear her finally admit that she had been terribly mean, hear her finally admit she had been wrong. Her demands for him to remain in Montfermeil were meaningless. Impossible. His chances of being caught if the case was pursued were significantly higher if he remained in the tightknit town. Although Montparnasse was attracted to Éponine, he did not love her so much that he would risk being captured. In that way, he lavished all his adoration on himself. He listened to her breathing, unable to sleep.

In the early morning, he slipped on his cold, damp clothes and headed out.


	5. Chapter 5

Moving was terribly easy four summers later. Éponine had been shocked to discover that the family had racked up a substantial amount of debt. She was unsure and quite afraid of this new life she and Azelma had been so joyously promised. The family deserted their inn, barely taking any of their belongings with them to Paris. Neither of the girls had known where they had been headed until the bustling, animalistic city came into view. Neither of the girls had gotten excited; they looked on at the buildings and people with an anxious sense of dread catapulting through their chests. What was to become of them here?

Éponine could not have found out soon enough.

"I'm not askin' you," her father had said one evening while holding the door to their shady apartment open. "I'm tellin' you."

Éponine had backed herself into the farthest corner of the room. She stared at the gaping doorway, so similar to that of an imposing mouth, disdainfully. "An' I said no," she retorted loudly. "I'm not goin'. I don' even know why you're makin' me leave."

Her father exhaled angrily, "Well you'll understand if you get out there." He left his post beside the door to rush toward her, only to have her skitter to the next nearest corner. He stopped, poised and ready to lunge at her. "Éponine!" He growled, using her entire name rather than the nickname everyone so often referred to. "You come 'ere! You keep this up an' you'll be sorry."

Éponine resolutely sunk to the floor, crossing her arms over her chest. "No."

Thénardier gazed on at his daughter, a scowl plastered across his face. He stomped over to her side and took hold of both her wrists suddenly. She gaped up at him, surprised that her father had actually gone so far. He yanked her to her feet, not caring if she was unsteady and fell against him. "You're going," he announced, dragging her back to the front door. "An' don' you even think about coming home unless you've got money."

Éponine twisted in his grasp, looking over to her sedentary mother and sister, who were looking on ignorantly. "Mama," she called, "oh please don' make me go. I'll do anything – whatever you want. Don' make me go."

"This is what we want you to do, 'Ponine," Thénardier replied calmly.

Éponine glared at the back of his head. "Why don' 'Zelma have to go too?" She spat.

Thénardier shrugged. "She ain't old enough."

Éponine glanced back at her younger sister. If she had not been preoccupied with the situation at hand, she would have been awfully livid with her. Thénardier released her, shoving his daughter out into the hallway. Éponine tumbled into the wall across from their door. She looked at her father, who was standing in the middle of the doorway, the light creating strange cutouts around him. He had become a disturbingly shadowed figure and she could not see his face.

"Now go," he snapped. "I don' want you hangin' 'round 'ere."

Éponine clutched the wall for support, as if she had been dealt a fatal blow. "What do I have to do?" She asked weakly. There was no way she was going to be allowed back into their apartment unless she had money to offer. Her father was tenacious in his decision and she risked an even worse life if she chose to never return. Éponine suddenly had two choices: go out and help provide for her family, or go out and not stand a chance against the cruel, competitive city.

Thénardier smirked. "Jus' go out there and…work that charm," he said hopefully before adding lamely, "though you've not much of it."

Éponine chewed on her lower lip, the first time she had ever displayed uneasiness. She knew her father could easily see her worried and defeated expression, and was embarrassed. With the family she had, it was never good to appear weak. "And then?"

Her father laughed, although his hearty chuckle was more of a bark. "Don' be ridiculous wretch," he said as his laughter died down. "I thought you were smarter than that. Guess not, but oh well. Whatever _does _happen, just be sure you're paid."

Éponine nodded, a thickness had lodged itself in her throat and she could not speak.

Receiving no response and having nothing left to say, Thénardier shut the apartment door. Éponine was abruptly shrouded in darkness, the entire house seeming to have become eerily silent. She wondered if the streets would be deserted once she got outside. The fourteen year old felt doom descending upon her with the finality of a knife.

She steeled herself and exited the house with the same stiff determination as someone walking up to the guillotine might have.

Éponine had no idea how long she stood out on the street corner, the damp night air nipping at her arms, neck, and face. A few older women had hurried by, bundled nicely and shaking their heads at her presence. Éponine felt awkward and out of place. Soon she began to actually hope for someone to come by and take her away from the discomfort which plagued the area. Éponine stared up at the stars, semi-obscured by the depressed clouds who now demanded attention; even the moon had been more cunning than she, seeing as it was in hiding. She started to count the glistening points, before the sound of quick footsteps drew her focus back to the street.

A tall, slim man was heading toward her, wrapped in a great black coat, a top hat perched quaintly upon his head. He was hurrying, appearing preoccupied, his head down.

Éponine turned to face him, her arms slightly out as if she were expecting an embrace. "Monsieur," she called sweetly, slightly afraid. "Please, monsieur if you could spare a moment."

He stopped mid-step.

"'Ponine?"

She jumped – the voice sounded quite familiar. But why? Éponine did not know a single soul in the entire city, so she was surprised and actually panicked that a strange man would somehow recognize her. She took a step back defensively and croaked, "Y-yes?"

He grabbed her by the shoulders suddenly, making her cry out. He ignored the fact she was drawing unwanted attention to them and shook her excitedly. "'Ponine? Oh, it's really you!" He practically growled. "Why don' you recognize me?"

Once he released her, Éponine stared up at his face. Her large brown eyes widened even more. "'Parnasse?" She squeaked. "It can't be you." She reached out and touched his arm, as if checking to make sure he was real and not some sort of apparition.

He was sixteen now, towering above her, his face less rosy and cherubic and more like that of a fox. Éponine still gazed on at her childhood friend. She was no longer a little girl competing for his attention. She no longer qualified for the competition. He had grown up to be absolutely gorgeous, although anyone could have predicted as much. Éponine caught herself – surely she had been staring for too long and she did not wish the anger such a god.

Montparnasse had been looking at her quizzically. "You alright?"

She shook her head, feeling a twinge of jealousy at his attractiveness. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Montparnasse rubbed his hands together, before blowing into them casually. "So what're you doin' out here? Damn, it's freezing. How can you stand there like that?"

Éponine copied his movements just to make herself move. She had his full attention, and yet she did not like the way he was looking at her. It was almost as if he were regarding her as if she were beneath him. "Father sent me out here," she answered through clenched teeth. "I'm workin'."

Montparnasse paused, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "'Ponine don' tell me that. I can't believe it. You move to Paris and _this_," he gestured to her, "is what you do? Please say that you haven't been doing this for a while."

"This is my first night out."

He gave a frustrated sigh and shut his eyes. "Good."

"But you don' understand 'Parnasse," she barked. "Father won' let me back in unless I come home with money. I need to make money or I've no place to stay."

Montparnasse reached out and took her hand smoothly. "You'll stay at my place."

Éponine pulled her hand back. "'Parnasse, I'm not stupid."

He grabbed her hand again, this time squeezing it tightly. "You need money and I have some. You'll be standin' out here all night if you don't c'mon." He gave her a gentle tug and flashed a bright smile.

Éponine followed reluctantly, although she was delighted to be reunited with him.

The air in his apartment was strangely warm and stagnant, as if he had not been home for days. Éponine stood awkwardly as he removed his hat and fiddled with the front door. At the time she had looked around, but even when her going there became a usual occurrence, she failed to describe the room. Maybe it was because she never had the time to take it all in. Maybe it was because she constantly found herself staring up at the ceiling.

Éponine gave a start when Montparnasse came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He placed his chin on her shoulder, breathing roughly into her ear. She started to shake slightly under his attention.

"'Parnasse," Éponine said sadly, "you don' have to do this."

Montparnasse brushed her dark hair away from her shoulder, exposing her neck. He placed a few light kisses along the smooth juncture between her neck and shoulder. "But 'Ponine," he murmured in a manner which was sickeningly sweet, "I wanna. An' stop lying to yourself – you know you want me too."

Éponine made to break free of his embrace, only to have him grab her wrists suddenly. They seemed to be inelegantly paused, she half turned away from him, and he struggling to hold onto her. She listened to his ragged breathing, completely forgetting to breathe herself. Montparnasse tugged her harshly, so that she fell flush against him. Éponine unconsciously made a disgusted sound which seemed to radiate from the very bottom of her chest.

"Now what's a matter?" He snarled.

She flinched away from him, unable to look in his direction. "Don' talk to me like that."

Montparnasse laughed, "Still such a baby, 'Ponine." He slid one hand up the side of her neck, his thumb pressing right under her chin. "An' if I'm payin' for it, I can do whatever I want." He forced her to look in his direction.

"Fine," Éponine hissed. Her own hands freed, she clung to his arm to restrain him.

He smirked through the darkness, expression no longer sinister. "Good," he said in a sing-song manner and took her hand gently, guiding her over to his bed. "An' perhaps, by the end, I'll make you like me again."

Éponine was lagging behind, her palm clammy against his. "What?"

"Oh, you don' remember?" He almost laughed. "How quickly you forget. Or do you?"

She snatched her hand out of his. "That was a long time ago, 'Parnasse. I couldn' be taken seriously." Éponine's face felt uncomfortably warm. She was glad he could not see her – she was lying. "I'm interested in other…things now."

Montparnasse divested himself of his coat, tossing it aside carelessly. He plopped down on his bed with an exaggerated sigh. "Well that's oftly mean. So you considered me a thing?"

Éponine crossed her arms over her chest, making sure to distance herself. "Stop bein' an ass, 'Parnasse. You know what I mean." He was sitting in just the right spot so that a murky glow of light washed over him. She could not pull her gaze away from his perfect form. Tall and slender, he was not muscular, but fit, and of course, with hips just like a woman. He was leaning back on his hands lazily, now seemingly uninterested.

A few minutes went by shrouded in obstinate silence.

"'Parnasse," Éponine interjected.

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you gonna do anythin'," she trailed off.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because I like it when you're frustrated."

Éponine's arm fell to her sides. "'Parnasse, I'm not playin' around."

"Come here then," he taunted.

She had begun to chew nervously on her bottom lip, taking a tentative step forward. He remained still, watching her, and she suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. But Éponine steeled herself, venturing over to his side. She jumped when he started to laugh.

"I'm confused," he remarked. "Did I just hire you as my maid?"

Éponine flushed. "N-no."

"Then stop," he growled, disgusted, "acting so…so much like _you_."

She nodded, before letting out a swear word under her breath at her own nodding. Stop acting like herself. What did he mean? Éponine briefly wished she had not gone home with him. Although there was something exciting about this – maybe it was because of the way he was treating her – or maybe it was because she was finally living out her fantasy. Éponine shooed her thoughts of leaving.

Montparnasse turned to her, and soon she found herself on his lap, her legs tucked under herself and on either side of his hips. He was kissing her roughly, demanding a response. Éponine was unsure, clutching at his shoulders to steady herself, each breath coming out shakily. She gave a gasp when his hand which had found its way under her dress, slid from her thigh to her backside. Montparnasse seemed to ignore all of her little suprised sounds, continuing with a devious determination. At the time, Éponine had been quite deterred, but soon realized that this was simply his opinion of play. For the dandy would constantly behave in a frustrating manner whenever they came together.

Even in the final throws of their passion, when Éponine was most vulnerable, Montparnasse stopped and pulled away from her.

"'Parnasse," she whimpered.

"Yes, darling?" Montparnasse teased with an out of place calmness.

"_What _are you -"

He cut her off with a quick kiss. "Can you beg, 'Ponine?"

"B-beg? Like what?"

Montparnasse rolled his eyes, although she did not see it. "Oh, c'mon. Don' act innocent. Beg. Do it. C'mon, you filthy slut. Do it." He had become quite gruff, appearing to forget who he was with. It was almost as if he had been pretending to be the person Éponine recognized. Montparnasse was frighteningly different.

She shut her eyes in a useless attempt to shut out her embarrassment as well, and did as she was told.

In the morning, groggy and stiff, Éponine found that Montparnasse had deserted her in his own apartment. She was also unable to return home that day, and the next, and the next, until she finally found someone else who would pay. Éponine was undeniably angry with him, with herself, but would not deny that she had actually enjoyed it. Montparnasse had sparked something. She relished the contact and knew he did too, but forgot that she was nothing special to him. In this ignorant way, Éponine was able to convince herself that Montparnasse might actually have loved her back.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for all the reviews so far. I appreciate your input - really gives me the stuffs (I know, not the greatest terminology) to continue.

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Éponine woke with a start. Her eyes were wide, searching, although she remained curled in her thin blanket riddled with holes. She heard her father's boisterous voice and another's – not her mother's – it was lower and much smoother. But who was her father talking to at this hour? She assumed she had just gotten to sleep, as it was still dark outside. Other than their two voices, the entire den was still, drenched in the atmosphere which comes with night. Curiosity getting the best of her, Éponine sat up with what she believed to be a quiet and fluid movement.

"Oh, 'Ponine, did we wake you?"

Éponine froze, before saying stiffly, "No. I was havin' a bad dream."

Then before she knew it, Montparnasse was sitting right beside her. She felt herself flush and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. He had placed himself severely close, their shoulders almost touching. Éponine regretted the need to figure out just who her father had been talking to. And why was her father talking to Montparnasse anyway? She looked back and forth between them in the darkness. And why was Montparnasse in their apartment anyway?

"You seem troubled, 'Ponine."

Éponine shook her head, a shiver crawling up her spine at his voice and the awkwardness which she felt. She had not seen the criminal since she had gone home with him. "I'm fine," she replied bitterly. "What're you doin' here?"

Montparnasse wrapped an arm around her shoulder, much to Éponine's displeasure. "Your father was thinkin' about lettin' me into his little group – I didn' know Monsieur Thénardier here was your father," he whispered excitedly.

She was unable to answer as she groggily tried to understand what he had said.

"Thinkin' about it," Thénardier chuckled. "Why, I want you to join us – long as you're a'right with it." He extended his hand warmly.

Montparnasse took it, standing. He released Éponine roughly, as always preoccupied and distracted with his own situation. "Of course I'm a'right with it."

"_And_ just how do you guys know each other?"

Both men looked down at Éponine, who was clutching her head as if she had a headache. Both of their smiles faded; Thénardier cleared his throat and Montparnasse ran his hands through his hair. Éponine glanced up at them, her face completely sour, although none could see. Her father made a sound as if he was about to speak, but she saw Montparnasse raise his hand to quiet him.

Azelma stirred next to Éponine.

"Why don' we take this into the hall?" Montparnasse proposed.

Thénardier had already starting leaving, so Éponine stood with a grumble. The hallway was much darker than the apartment, even more so when Montparnasse closed the front door behind him. The three of them stood in a circle, Éponine leaning against the wall, unsure if her eyes were open or closed in the darkness. Someone yawned.

"I caught ol' 'Parnasse here pickpocket-ing a man out in the alley," Thénardier said proudly. "Think it helped much that the sorry fellow was already dead. Ain't that right?"

Montparnasse all too eagerly replied, "Definitely. Poor guy didn' even put up a fight."

Éponine cut in, frustrated, "So why did you bring 'Parnasse back here?" She was not so much irritated with her father letting him into their apartment. Éponine was overwhelmed with the idea that now her father _knew _Montparnasse. Worst of all, they appeared to be getting along quite pleasantly, and she had nothing to do with their meeting.

"Ah, yes, I see you know my 'Ponine," Thénardier observed curiously, ignoring his daughter's question.

"Yes – we've been friends for a while now," Montparnasse said shortly.

Éponine looked in his direction, surprised. She had just assumed that perhaps they were something more. She could not understand Montparnasse's motives for brushing her off so casually. "We have?" She started, hoping to bring her displeasure and confusion to his attention.

Montparnasse slithered to her side, bumping into her and nearly throwing her off balance. He continued, "Yes, 'Ponine. We have. I think you must be tired or somethin'."

"Well ain't that perfect," Thénardier interjected gleefully. "Another member for the Patron-Minette, and a friend for you 'Ponine." He shoved his hands into his pockets randomly, appearing to be either bored or uncomfortable. He swallowed before adding dryly, "I think I'm gonna take leave now, let you kids alone."

Éponine was confused as she watched her father head back into the apartment.

The door clicked closed and all she could hear was her own raspy breathing.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Montparnasse growled, his voice harsh against the quiet hallway.

Éponine furrowed her eyebrows, turning to him. "What the fuck are _you _doin'? Why're you hangin' 'round my father now? What the fuck are you thinkin'?" Overwhelmed, she began to spew out any thoughts which came to mind.

Montparnasse shoved her against the wall, their faces just inches away. "Don' talk to me like that, wretch. Answer my damn question."

Éponine smirked. His scent was intoxicating, but she did not want to appear weak. "What?"

Montparnasse's hand was suddenly at her throat. "You know what."

She rested her head against his arm with a short exhale. "Why're you lyin' to my father?"

He released her, nearly flinching away. "Lyin'?"

It was Éponine's turn to back him against the wall. She crept toward him as a cat does to a mouse. "Sayin' we're just friends."

Montparnasse crossed his arms, resolute. "I ain't lyin', 'Ponine. We're friends."

Éponine took a few steps back, giving him room. All her assumptions had been crushed with a single sentence. She had not been right in simply assuming. But how could she not? She glanced in his direction, then at the floor, then back to him. "Yeah, I guess we are," she agreed shakily all previous courage having dissipated.

Montparnasse quickly figured out what she was getting at. He had been through this situation so many times; he had turned it into a game. He left the wall with a few confident steps. "Do you really want your father knowin' everythin' about your life, 'Ponine?" He said softly. "Did you want me to tell him about…"

Éponine perked up, wiping her tears away hurriedly. She shook her head, although he could not see the movement. "N-no, I don' want that."

"Then you understand why I said just that," Montparnasse concluded happily - he had received the foreshadowed response.

Éponine blinked – she did not understand. She did not want to appear both weak and ignorant. "Yeah, I get it."

He approached her carefully, taking her hand. "Good girl. Now let's go home," he cooed, and started to pull her down the hallway.

She took a few uneven steps before stopping. "Go home?"

Montparnasse looked back at her, grinning wickedly. "Yeah, home. You're comin' home with me. Are you sure you're feelin' okay?" He gave her a rude tug, before he gave her a chaste kiss. "You seem tired," he said obnoxiously. "But sorry, you ain't gettin' much sleep tonight darlin'. I promise."

Éponine was breathless and even more confused. She could not remember, but she thought she responded with some sarcastic or pointed quip. In actuality, she had said nothing and Montparnasse took her silence as complacency. Éponine was simply pitifully happy that he had decided she would go home with him. She naively overlooked the influence Montparnasse had over her.

The tension in the apartment when Éponine returned home the next afternoon was stifling. As soon as she entered, she found her father and mother staring at her quietly, intensely, as if they had been waiting just for her. She shut the front door slowly, not wanting to turn her back to them. With the door shut, the three of them gazed at one another, silent messages appearing to be passed between her parents. Éponine leaned against the door and crossed her arms impatiently. Madame Thénardier nodded to her husband, who left his place next to the desk that he had been leaning on to creep toward their daughter.

"A'right, explain the boy to us," he suddenly demanded.

Éponine was thrown off-guard. Her arms fell to her sides and she looked up searchingly at her father. "What do you mean?"

"Does he pay you?" Thénardier blatantly questioned. "Does he have money?"

"I d-don' know if he's got money," Éponine stammered, increasingly embarrassed. Her eyes fell to the gritty floor. "An' no - no, he doesn't pay me or nothin' like that."

Thénardier impulsively smacked his daughter over the head. "Then what're you doin', 'Ponine?"

She cowered, clutching her head. "I don' know!" She cried, the first half coming out angrily, the last desperate. "We're just friends! Just friends. I don' know, honest."

Thénardier made to hit her again, but paused and dropped his hand thoughtfully. He added lightly, "Where'd you go when you left?"

Éponine shrugged, unable to look at him or her mama, the first night she spent with Montparnasse flooding her conscience. "We went back to his apartment." The place they always returned to. She felt a tinge of panic strike her as she wondered what her father was getting at. She definitely did not want him knowing _everything _about Montparnasse. Éponine wanted to keep something for herself.

"A nice place?"

"I'd say so. Better than here, anyways."

Thénardier clapped his hands together almost gleefully and with an air of finality. His daughter glanced up at the sound, her face slightly distorted with an expression of fear. Now he patted her on the head, saying in a sing-song way, "You know what? I want you to stay with this boy. Go off with 'em as many times as you like, 'Ponine."

Éponine moved away from her father, once again crossing her arms. "Why?" She asked sharply.

He was already walking back over to his wife, his back turned towards Éponine. Thénardier still shook his finger at her over his shoulder. "An' that is none of your business. Go be happy, 'Ponine. Go be happy with that boy. Leave everythin' else to me."


	7. Chapter 7

And here is yet another chapter. Mwah ~ I've been busy with college, but yes, here you go. Thank you all for the kind words.

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At first he had kept their destination concealed, and Éponine was forced to continuously guess where he could possibly be taking her with a bottle of cheap wine shoved under his arm. He gripped her hand mercilessly, pulling her this way and that, down one street, and up another, until she actually doubted if they were still in Paris. Éponine was not alarmed, however, because she both trusted Montparnasse, and was preoccupied with the bottle of wine. What was the special occasion? She glanced over at the young criminal – he was concentrating, as if he was trying to remember a particular route he had been shown earlier. For a moment, Éponine was genuinely excited and felt herself getting giddy, until their destination was finally revealed. It was located in a filthy back alley in some degraded, outskirt of the city. It was an opium den.

Montparnasse descended the cement stairs leading into the mouth of the beast first, waiting on the third step for his charge. He looked up at her impatiently, but extended his hand slowly, his slim fingers quite unwelcoming.

"You're not scared, are you?"

Éponine crinkled her nose, diving right down the stairs and bypassing his offered hand.

"At least allow me," Montparnasse snapped, hooking her arm roughly with his. "You better not leave my side – don' want you gettin' hurt."

Éponine glanced over at his face, assuming he was being sarcastic. She felt a slight twinge of worry when she found him serious, resolute. "An' you've been 'ere before?"

He smiled then, and said in a low tone, "Once. With a friend."

The dim den was crowded with people in various stages of lethargy; some were sitting up, while others were passed out right on the floor. Éponine was queasy as she made her way around a limp leg. The room was saturated with red and purple hues, creating a richness that convinced Éponine she must have really stepped into the underbelly of some creature. Of course, Montparnasse was not as uncomfortable as she, making his way through the den smoothly, his expression blank. They made their way over to the back of the room, where three men were crowded around an ornately decorated lamp. The men did not seem to notice the two adolescents when they sat directly on the floor next to them. Éponine began to fidget with a loose lock of her dark hair.

"'Parnasse," she whispered after a moment, "what're we doin' 'ere?"

He threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "We're gonna drink and get high, 'Ponine. Have fun. Don' look so afraid." He thrust the bottle of wine into her lap. "Open it."

Éponine eyed the bottle curiously, unsure exactly how she was supposed to open it. She felt as if she had been staring at the silky liquid for an unreasonable amount of time, when Montparnasse thrust a long and decorative pipe into her lap. "What do I…?" She trailed off, lifting up the pipe to get a better look at it.

"Always such a baby." He teased, before adding a bit more softly, "Watch."

Now his slim fingers no longer appeared imposing, and Éponine found herself unable to look away as he created a demonstration. She watched, mouth slightly open, as he introduced her to an addiction – which we will allow the reader to determine if she possessed or not. In a few minutes they were both sprawled on the floor in a haze of calming smoke. The wine had been opened – although neither remembered how – and was being passed between them in shared swigs.

"You better look out for my father," Éponine babbled, her head resting against Montparnasse's chest. "He's up to no good."

Montparnasse had been stroking her hair in a repetitive rhythm, his eyes half-lidded. He replied groggily, "What're you talkin' 'bout?"

"I don' even know," Éponine sighed, "but he's no good. I wouldn' trust 'em if I were you. He'll find a way to take even _your_ money. He don' care."

"Of course I don' trust 'em," Montparnasse said with a yawn. "I'm not stupid, 'Ponine."

Éponine sat up and finished off the wine, clueless that the young criminal was staring at her, completely mesmerized by her movements. "Then why're you joinin' the Patron Minette?" She snapped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Well, I don' wanna be by myself."

She smiled, her eyes half-lidded and drowsy with sleep as well. "Aw, little 'Parnasse is lonely?"

Montparnasse placed an arm behind his head, before pulling her back against his chest. "Oh, shut up 'Ponine," he chided, slapping her head lightly. "It's called opportunity."

Éponine nodded, as she was unable to answer, her eyes closed, the opium taking its toll. Montparnasse gazed on at her relaxed expression, before he too fell unconscious. When the two awoke, they were disoriented as to their location and the time. The three men who had been sharing the lamp were gone, and the den was currently filled with a new slew of addicts. Éponine had been alarmed when she had woken in Montparnasse's arms, as they never displayed such affectionate actions. Montparnasse was less surprised, and simply stood up, adjusting his clothing and ignoring her presence. She had to run after him because he had decided to leave so briefly and without a word of warning.

Chilly night air accosted them as they reentered the street, and both had to take a second to adjust to the lack of light.

"How long do you think we were in there?" Éponine asked, looking back at the doorway of the opium den. She shuddered.

Montparnasse hurriedly stripped off his jacket, shoving it at her. "I've no clue. Hours?"

Éponine grinned, although he was not paying attention, and slipped the jacket on.

"So we goin' to your place?"

The young woman looked over at Montparnasse, who was staring at the ground, kicking a pebble. He felt her gaze upon him and glanced up, their eyes meeting. Éponine was the first to smile, Montparnasse more skeptical. But soon he began to relax, and with an irritated huff, smiled back. They remained this way for a little while, until Éponine broke out in giggles.

"What?"

She shook her head, grabbing his hand carefully. "Nothin'. Just don' smile. It doesn' suit you. I like you better frowning. Now, c'mon."

Montparnasse gave her hand a harmful squeeze, before heading back the way they had come. Éponine watched him closely, scowling, pretending to be ignorant to their hand holding. They seemed to have reached the Thénardier den faster than they had reached the opium den. Montparnasse released her hand once they were right outside the front door – all appeared quiet within, forcing them to resort to whispering.

"Aren't you comin' in?" Éponine asked almost angrily.

"What about your family?"

She fought with the door, pushing and shoving until it opened with a crack. Peering in, Éponine motioned for Montparnasse to follow, announcing quietly, "It's just my mom and 'Zelma. They're asleep."

He followed, bumping into Éponine and nearly causing her to fall. She laughed, but quickly threw a hand over her mouth. He shut the door, corralling them with the sound of sleepy breathing. This time it was Éponine who shoved him up against the wall unexpectedly, kissing him with a strange sort of urgency. He fended her off, grasping her shoulders and holding her out at arm's length.

"What's wrong?" Éponine questioned, offended.

"Not 'ere, 'Ponine," Montparnasse growled.

"Oh, right," Éponine answered disappointedly. She reached up, pulling his hands from her shoulders and clasping them tightly with hers. She sighed, "I almost forgot about my mom and 'Zelma – they're so quiet."

Montparnasse wriggled his fingers in her grip, but she did not release him. He glared at her through the darkness, having a great disdain for the affectionate and being quite uncomfortable in the current situation. "So why do you want me to stay?" He asked harshly.

Éponine rolled her eyes, although he could not see her. She turned toward the mattress she and Azelma usually shared, tugging him along like a reluctant dog. "Come, you're just sleepin' 'ere tonight."

"But what about 'Zelma?"

"We'll just move her," Éponine assured him, finally releasing his hand, much to his relief. "Grab her feet – I've got her shoulders."

Montparnasse took hold of her sister's surprisingly skinny ankles, and both youth managed to move her next to Madame Thénardier smoothly. Azelma continued to sleep soundly, Montparnasse staring off in her direction absentmindedly. Éponine was sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching him with the little light that filtered into the room. He slowly reached down to Azelma, placing his hand on her head and smoothing down her hair. Éponine brought her knees to her chest, her chin on one of them, looking on curiously. A lump seemed to have formed in her throat – what from, she knew, but she denied – making her already raspy voice even harsher.

"'Parnasse."

He turned around; seeming to have forgotten Éponine was sitting beside him.

"What're you doin'," she asked, the same bitterness from years before suddenly surfacing, "to my sister?"

Montparnasse settled beside her, kicking off his boots. "Nothin'."

Éponine sighed angrily, "Why can't you just be honest, 'Parnasse? You keep lyin'."

"What're you goin' on about now," he snapped, lying back with one arm behind his head.

"You love her."

Montparnasse gave a start, but kept his face expressionless, eyes shut tight. He rolled over so his back was facing Éponine. "Don' start," he mumbled.

Éponine grabbed onto his shoulder, yanking him onto his back again. "Look at me, 'Parnasse," she snarled. "Just tell me if you love her – and stop wastin' my time."

"Well I can't really see you, can I?" He spat. "An' stop forcin' me to admit to that."

"But I wanna know."

Montparnasse sat up, lashing out impulsively, his hand clutching at her clammy neck. Éponine inhaled sharply, surprised, her own small hands coming up to pull at his arm. He pulled her close so that his hot breath was upon her face with every word. "You don' want to know what I think of your sis," he growled. "Now I'm leavin'." He released her neck, tossing her aside so that she fell onto her elbows, mass of dark hair hiding her face.

She quickly grabbed onto his arm again, her voice thick with sobs, "Don' go. Don' go 'Parnasse. I promise I won' bring it up again. I promise."

He ripped his arm out of her hands, his tone punctuating his disdain for her that moment. "I won't leave this time. But I swear 'Ponine, you ask that question again – and I'll leave for good."

Éponine had choked back her sobs, so that she was reduced to a shaking heap of hair and hot tears. She nodded her submission, but could not help being stiff even when he pulled her against his chest in an attempt to soothe her. Even when he shoved her away and threatened her to shut up or risk having her throat slit.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello everybody! I'm back after a great winter break. Here's another chapter!

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If it was one thing Éponine could remember, it was her birthday – that special day out of the year where she did not have to give herself to anyone – she had the entire time to do as she pleased. She never counted on gifts, of course, those materialistic items people with money traded on various occasions. In fact, Éponine somewhat loathed gifts, with the contradiction of her whole being having realized the ugliness of jealousy, and yet being overwhelmed by it. She wanted things she knew she should not want. So where she should have been joyous on her birthday, Éponine was in an ongoing battle of tug-of-war with herself.

But something was different that year: she and Montparnasse had remained close in their own horrid relationship. He usually dropped by the den if they had not bumped into one another on the street. Well, Éponine had not seen him for three days. Montparnasse would definitely show up on her birthday – she had constantly reminded him of it during the previous months. Now it was a breezy May morning and Éponine waited as if it were his duty to visit that day. Once an hour sailed by, she began to pace on what little floor space they had, dark eyes constantly flicking up to the front door. Bored, Azelma sat beneath her, picking at something on the floor with a smooth, round fingernail.

"How 'bout we go out and actually enjoy your birthday?" Azelma asked impatiently. She flinched when a splinter of wood snapped under her nail. "Damn it," she muttered before glancing up at her older sister. "How old are you again?"

"Seventeen," Éponine huffed angrily. "We're only two years apart."

Azelma started to pick at the splinter. "Well this is dull. What makes you so sure he's comin' over?" She bit at her fingernail. "How'd you know he's not busy?"

Éponine stopped pacing, staring at her little sister quizzically. "Busy?" She said, each word becoming successively louder. "Busy? What makes you think he's busy? Busy with what? When is he ever busy?" She placed her hands on her hips like some old housewife. "Well?"

Azelma stood, although she was pitifully shorter than her older sister despite being so close in age. She got onto tip-toe before saying equally as loud, "It's not all 'bout you, 'Ponine." Her stance would have been comical if not for the tension which had quickly flooded the space. "Why're you so worked up 'bout it?"

Éponine's hands slipped to her sides as she stared at Azelma blankly. Her eyes narrowed, deepening the crease between them. "Where'd you get that idea?" She snapped. "Because you know it's never 'bout me. And if I'm worked up, you're pretty anxious. What's wrong 'Zelma?"

"You're always tryin' to protect me," Azelma cut in quickly, rolling her own eyes. "But I know it's never been 'bout _me_. You just don' approve of me runnin' off with _your _Montparnasse. All this time you've only been tryin' to keep me away." She bit her lip as if she had just sputtered out some secret. In all these years she had never once mentioned the boy in such a way - a worrisome manner, a hint of compettiveness.

"An' what makes you think you've a chance with him?"

The little sister fell back, unable to look at Éponine, she crossed her arms awkwardly.

"You don' even feel the same way 'bout him like I do," Éponine continued pointedly. "You're just tryin' to make trouble. What? Nothin' to say to me?"

"No," Azelma responded, her voice soft and pleasant, "I saw we have a visitor."

Éponine spun around, nearly knocking the breath out of her lungs so that she ended up whispering, "'Parnasse."

The rogue was leaning against the doorframe, frowning, his outfit fashionable, his top hat still rudely perched on his head. The older Thénardier sister was dusting her dress off, as if she could brush away the embarrassment that suddenly plagued her. Éponine forced a smile, holding one of his hands with both of her sweaty ones. He stiffly pulled his hand away and drifted past her into the room.

"How long were you…waiting?"

Éponine watched with furrowed eyebrows as Montparnasse came to stand beside Azelma. The younger sister glanced up at his towering frame contentedly before her hazel eyes settled on the other. Éponine leaned from side to side, foot to foot, feeling like she was about to enter some kind of match between the two.

"Oh," Montparnasse said quietly, "I was standing there since you were askin' how I could ever be busy. No, you don' need to explain yourself. I get it: how could a criminal such as myself ever have an excitin' life like yours? By the way, how many men did you sleep with this week 'Ponine?"

Éponine shook her head, small pale hands clutched against her chest. "Why're you sayin' all this 'Parnasse?"

"Because," Montparnasse replied, taking Azelma's hand, "I think you've become a little too comfortable with me, 'Ponine. And I believe there's been a misunderstandin'."

"What's all this 'Zelma?"

"This is between you and me," Montparnasse growled, pulling the younger sister closer to him. "Where'd you ever get the idea that you and I were meant to be together?"

Éponine brought a hand to her mouth, muffling her shaky voice as she said, "But all those times we spent together…I thought…you took care of me – money, food, shelter – when my father sent me out on the street that first night…"

"Don' make it sound like I'm some horrible guy, 'Ponine," Montparnasse snapped. "You haven't been so faithful either." He paused for a breathy chuckle. "What the hell am I sayin'? You were never faithful and neither was I. But, you're just a whore, after all."

"Take a look in a mirror, 'Parnasse. You're a criminal."

"Well at least when I get involved with someone, we're of the same class," Montparnasse replied with a wolfish grin. "I've seen you talkin' oh so sweetly to that student. There's no need to be surprised. You did just say I'm a criminal. What makes you think I wouldn' eventually find out 'bout you and that boy?"

Éponine's hand slid down to clutch at her throat. She felt something thick at the back of it, choking her, making her eyes water, making it difficult to breathe. For the past month she had become obsessed with the student – a young man so different from anyone she had ever known. Without realizing it, she had managed to eclipse Montparnasse, who had taken advantage of the opportunity. But she still was unsure if the student would ever amount to anything. In the meantime, Montparnasse had managed to build quite a stable relationship. The difference between their situations hit the older Thénardier sister with an intimidating slap; all that was left for her to do was to grovel and take it.

"So what did you really come 'ere to say?" Éponine spat.

Montparnasse cleared his own throat, staring at her fixatedly, unblinking.

"I came to break the news to you that we're plannin' to be married soon."

"You an' 'Zelma. I'm not surprised."

"You've known how I felt 'bout 'Zelma for a while now."

Éponine took an aggressive step forward; as if she were about to assault the other young woman until she realized it was her younger sister. She lowered her head, taken aback by her own actions, but not altogether surprised by the turn of events. "Why didn' you tell me, 'Zelma?" Her voice was soft and unconfident. "How long has this been goin' on?"

Montparnasse was about to speak when Azelma pressed a hand to his chest. Only fifteen, she brazenly approached her sister, head held high like she had elevated her status by finally winning over the young man who had intertwined himself with the Thénardier brood.

"We've only been together a couple of months, 'Ponine."

Azelma took Éponine's hand, the confidence and slight arrogance which engulfed her never once coming through as she spoke. She was understanding, but unyielding. The younger did not feel sorry for the older. Azelma may have been unfortunately submissive; however, it was obvious that she, like all people, could be hard when push came to shove. Given enough time, both sisters realized Montparnasse could swing with either of them. He was not picky, a quality that fostered protectiveness in whomever he was with.

"I see you're definitely not pleased – I wouldn' be if it were me," Azelma murmured. "An' I don' expect you to show up at the weddin' either. It's goin' to be small anyway."

Éponine squeezed her hand, tears never once gracing her face, which was blank and unreadable. "Why did you lead me on, 'Parnasse?" She blurted, entirely ignoring Azelma. Éponine felt no overwhelming rush of emotion that accompanies rejection, no emptiness, no falling feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the young man across the room, warm eyes half lidded and worn.

Montparnasse stiffly removed his hat, expression sullen. "I never led you on," he said each word like they were a crutch he was using to negotiate the emotional quagmire. "I've feelings for you, don' get me wrong. But it's not like the feelings I've for 'Zelma."

Éponine nodded, oblivious to the reddened flesh on her wrist she had made with her nails. "Why didn' you just –"

Now he was severe, "That's enough. I know you understand, Éponine. 'Zelma, come. We're leavin'." He headed for the door, hooking the younger sister's arm with his. She did an awkward little hop to keep up with his agitated pace.

"Wait. Are you comin' back 'ere 'Zelma?"

They stopped in the hallway, right outside the door of the shabby apartment. Azelma peered in, the morning glow from the windows catching her like an unforgiving spotlight. Montparnasse sighed impatiently and continued on.

"I'm not comin' back, 'Ponine. I've no need to. If you haven' noticed, I've got nothin' to come back to. I'm tired of waitin' around 'ere all day or runnin' stupid errands." She glimpsed down the hallway. "Sure, 'Parnasse isn't the best person to go off with and I'm a little worried. But it's a hell of a better deal than sittin' 'round while all that talk of an uprisin' is goin' on. I don' know 'bout you, 'Ponine – I just wanna be safe."

"Well if that makes you happy 'Zelma," Éponine trailed.

"I think it does."

Azelma clasped her hands against the top of her thighs. "I hope," she breathed, gaze dropping to Éponine's feet, "you can still enjoy your birthday. I'm sorry we ruined it. I'm not sure if 'Parnasse even knew. Didn' you tell him at least once when your birthday was?"

The older Thénardier sister did not answer.

Azelma shrugged, reading her offense as resentment.

"Anyhow…best wishes, 'Ponine. I hope we see each other 'round. An' that everything works out for you."

Éponine's eyes followed Azelma as she plunged back into the darkness of the hallway; for all Montparnasse's finality, he had actually been waiting a little way down the makeshift corridor - Éponine could hear their low voices. As soon as the murmur fell silent, the eldest Thénardier daughter took up pacing once again. This time she was not anxiously wandering from one side to the other, instead her strides were thoughtful, distressed. Suddenly, Éponine felt a onslaught of anger which forced her to stop walking. She ran to the doorway, the floor crying out beneath her heavy steps, only to stop in the middle of it, and look down the hallway. On turning back into the room Éponine mindlessly and efficiently - as most of those kinds of accidents are - thrust her fist through the wall. The damage was inconsequential, a small dent. She recoiled from the blow with a hiss, babying her bloodied knuckles against her chest.

"Would you mind goin' outside if you're goin' to do that?"

Éponine recognized her father's voice; she continued going back into the apartment.

Thénardier burst into the room right after her. He was busy stuffing his pockets with different little items from various hiding places his own daughter hardly knew existed. Feeling her gaze upon him, Thénardier glanced behind. "And what're you still doin' 'ere?"

Éponine shrugged even though he did not see it. "Just because the cops chased you away doesn't mean I can't be 'ere."

"Suit yourself."

"But what're you doin'?"

"I'm withdrawing from my account 'ere," Thénardier answered with a chuckle. "Forgot all 'bout this stuff when we were found out. Decided to come back for it."

A moment passed, the old inn keeper continuing to move about the room, the items already obviously weighing his pockets down. Éponine stared, forgetting momentarily about her own business she had recently attended to. At last every hideaway was emptied, the room in even further disarray than it was before Thénardier pilaged it. He quickly made for the door, bypassing his own daughter as if she were sleeping - with a light step and poised hands.

"Hold on."

Thénardier turned around smoothly on his heel. "What is it?"

"Do you know Montparnasse and Azelma are going to be married?"

"Of course," Thénardier purred. "Boy was polite enough to ask my permission."

"An' what 'bout me?" Éponine cried with a stomp of her foot.

Thénardier was slowly inching towards the door. "What 'bout you 'Ponine?"

Éponine took a step forward with each one he took back. Her face had been twisted in a fit of fury, but suddenly her expression went blank, cheeks paling. "Damn it," she growled more to herself than her father. "You already got what you wanted from 'Parnasse. That's why you don' care anymore."

Thénardier was already in the spotlight Azelma had been in earlier. The light was brighter, making the edges of the shape less defined. He smiled guiltily at Éponine. "Now that you've figure out your little problem," he said meekly, "I'm goin' to go. I really don' think you need my help any longer."

Éponine let him go - running after him would do her no good. What more could he say? Montparnasse had set his sights on Azelma from the beginning. She and Thénardier had just been collateral damage in a different scheme. The only difference was that her father had taken advantage of it, while she had remained blind until it was too late. She, the only person who had cared the most for Montparnasse, had been the one who was left hurt the most.

Montparnasse's icy words concerning the student came back to mind. What did she have to lose in trying to gain now?


End file.
